


Four Wheels & Four Walls

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Baby, F/M, Human!Impala - Freeform, Magic, Reader Insert, Romance, Sex, Smut, canoneaque
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 14:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13683966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage





	Four Wheels & Four Walls

The first thing you noticed was the cold. You curled inwards, covering yourself with your arms, shivering violently at the frozen concrete underneath you.

The second thing you noticed?

Two large men, towering over you, neither of them looking particularly happy about your appearance. The shorter of the two - although that wasn’t saying much - leaned down, glaring at you. “Where’s my car?” he demanded, through gritted teeth, and you reacted in much the way anyone would in that situation.

They didn’t seem to appreciate the ear-piercing scream, or you trying to scramble away from them on your hands and knees. Nudity didn’t bother you as much as the fact that you were about to die, so when you slipped in a puddle of oil and splashed into it face first, it came as a shock to the system.

Big hands had hold of you, tugging you upwards, and you fought back, desperate to defend yourself. When the larger man caught you in a bear hug, your back to his chest, you gave up the fight, resorting to fat tears rolling down your cheeks. You shook your head from side to side - you were not above begging for your life.

“P-please, don’t hurt me,” you sobbed, unable to properly focus on the man’s face as he stood in front of you, his companion holding you tightly but not to the point of pain.

“We’re not gonna hurt you, darlin’,” the man who’d spoken before insisted, looking more concerned than angry. “We just need to know how you got in here, and what you did with my car.”

You hiccuped a pathetic sound out, terror making your body numb. “I don’t know where your car is!” The words were barely understandable, and the man grunted in annoyance.

“If we let you go, you gonna fight us? You can’t run in here, you’re locked in,” the man warned, as the one holding you tensed.

“Dean,” he scolded, shaking his head. “We’re not gonna hurt you, okay? Maybe we can help you.”

You blinked, not sure what you needed help with, but nodded your acceptance of his words. Slowly, he released his grip, letting your feet touch the floor, and stepping around you. He shed his thick flannel shirt and draped it around your shoulders, covering some of your modesty. Clutching at the shirt, you noticed for the first time that your nails were painted a shiny black. “I don’t… I don’t know how I got here,” you shuddered, looking up at both of them.

“Are you human?” the one called Dean asked abruptly, earning a glare from the taller man. “What?”

“I think so?” you replied, shrugging.

“What’s your name?” your former captor questioned, and you drew your eyebrows together, trying to envision the name you had, your label. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you recalled someone calling you “baby”, but that could have been anyone…

Except you didn’t know anyone. You could name the President, the number one record in the charts and the price of gas, but anything specific to you?

Nothing.

Panic started to seep into you again, and fresh tears tipped down your cheeks. “I don’t know!” you gasped, beginning to hyperventilate. “I don’t know anything!”

*****

After narrowly circumventing hyperventilation, you found yourself sat in a plush chair in a library that seemed to have popped right out of a movie set. Your eyes were wide as you took in the expansive room, trying to figure out who lived somewhere like this.

“So, you don’t remember anything?” Sam, the younger Winchester brother as you’d learned, asked, setting a mug of hot tea in front of you. You stared at it, watching the steam curl and rise - it occurred you that you didn’t even know if you liked tea. “Nothing at all?”

With a shake of your head, you reached out to the mug, wrapping your fingers around it. “No,” you rasped, feeling despair all over again. “There’s nothing. I remember things about the world but… but not me.”

Dean appeared at that moment with a pile of clothes, and a firm yet not entirely friendly smile on his face. “Clothing. Even if you are evil, I’m not a fan of fighting naked chicks.”

“Evil?” you squeaked, looking from one man to the other. “I don’t think I’m evil.”

Sam reached over, placing a flat palm on the tabletop and giving you a genuine smile. “I’m sure you’re not. Dean’s just…”

“Thorough,” the elder brother replied before Sam scoffed.

“Paranoid,” he insisted, sitting back as Dean sat next to him. “It’s a little weird, finding a girl in place of a car.” You didn’t say anything, keeping your eyes focused on the tea in your hands. It was oddly calming and centering, watching the heat rise off of it. Sam shifted, glancing at Dean, then looking back at you. “Why don’t you take the clothes and go sort yourself out. We’ll find you a room.”

You shrugged, unsure what to do. It wasn’t every day you woke up not remembering anything about yourself. Or maybe it was, for you. You had no way of knowing.

Following Sam through the corridors of the immense building, you almost bumped into the back of him when he stopped at an empty bedroom, containing only a bed and some drawers. “You take this room. I’m right down there, and Dean is just over a little. You’re safe here, I promise.”

With another nod of non-committal, you took the pile of clothes, turning away from him to walk into the bedroom. Before you could get far, Sam’s voice stopped you.

“Wait,” he called, frowning and you looked back, unsure what he wanted. “There’s… you have a tattoo, on your…” He gestured and you looked down at yourself, seeing nothing. “On the back of your leg,” Sam pointed out, and you swivelled on the spot, finally getting a glimpse of the back of your calf. There, in messy handwriting, were the initials D.W. and S.W. His frown deepened, and you looked up, not making the connection.

“I don’t know what that means,” you whispered, dropping your eyes back to the mark. Sam breathed heavily once and then swallowed, nodding and tearing his eyes away.

“Get dressed and come back to the library,” he ordered, the previous warmth in his voice gone, leaving you even more desperate to figure out what was going on. In the next second, he’d disappeared, and you stared at the door for a few moments.

Shaking yourself free, you moved towards the comfortable looking bed, dropping the clothes and checking yourself over. You couldn’t see any injuries - a few scars from well-tended wounds, but nothing fresh. In addition to the tattooed mark on your leg, you found another one on your forearm. This one was smaller, a little green army man that looked like he was bent in the middle. On the inside of your forearm, just up from the army man, was a smaller tattoo of what looked like a Lego brick.

You frowned, trailing your fingers over the markings. They seemed odd, but not out of place on your skin. More like blemishes that might explain who you were.

There was nothing more frightening than the prospect of not knowing that.

Rifling through the clothes, you found a pair of tight black jeans that clearly didn’t belong to either of the gigantic men that lived here, but they seemed to be in your size, so you pulled them on. A small black t-shirt with the word “Kansas” emblazoned across the front was the first top you found, and you slipped it on, feeling a little uncomfortable with so much fabric against your skin. There were no shoes, so you padded out of the room with bare feet.

The call of nature sounded, and you looked around, standing in the middle of the corridor wondering where the bathroom was. When the urge became too much to bear, you called out, prompting both men to appear with guns raised at you, and you nearly pissed yourself right there and then.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, and you shivered, squishing your thighs together.

“Bathroom?”

Dean rolled his eyes, putting his gun away dramatically, as Sam chuckled and put his away with a little less flare. “Seriously?” the elder brother grunted, storming off, and Sam gestured to the door next to yours.

“I guess I should have told you huh?” he asked, but you were gone like a shot, locking the door behind you.

Relieved, you slumped on the toilet seat, before cleaning up and standing, lifting your jeans to button them. Something caught your eye, and you span around, seeing yourself in the mirror. It hadn’t occurred to you up to that point that you had no real image in your head of what you looked like.

Your figure curved inwards at the waist, the black tee hugging your body. A long, thick mane of wild hair draped around your face, and you turned each way to get an idea of your profile. Long eyelashes framed your eyes, and you took a step back, twirling in the mirror.

At least you had a nice ass. Positive thinking and all.

There was a sharp knock at the door before Sam’s voice echoed through the wood. “You okay in there?”

“Fine,” you replied, giving yourself one last glance. Moving towards the door, you opened it, giving Sam a hesitant smile. He returned it - his earlier abruptness seemed to have melted away. “Sorry, there was a mirror… I didn’t remember what I looked like.”

His smile became compassionate and he stepped back to allow you to exit from the bathroom. “Well, at least now you know how pretty you are,” he commented and you felt your cheeks heat up as you walked with him down the hall into the library. “Listen, Dean and I might have an idea about where you came from.”

“You,” Dean said as you entered the room. “You had an idea and I told you that it was stupid. That girl is not my baby!”

“What?” you blurted out, immediately assuming that he meant his daughter.

Sam’s eyes widened and he held his hands up to you. “No, no, not like that, I mean, you look younger than us but not that young.” You exhaled the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. Maybe Dean meant his girlfriend or something - “He’s talking about his car.”

Okay, that was worse.

“I’m not a car,” you protested, not quite understanding how that could even be possible. Cars didn’t just turn into people, after all - you were fairly certain on that fact. “I have legs and arms and I talk!”

Dean glowered, the expression more directed at Sam than you, and the younger Winchester sighed. “Dean, I told you about the tattoo on her leg.” You stepped back, suddenly unsure where this conversation was going. Sam’s eyes turned on you, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Did you find anything else?”

Slowly, you started to shake your head, but your entire body was trembling. “I… I… “ Why was it so hard to breathe? Your heart was pounding enough that it sounded like a roaring in your ears, and Sam got closer, too close. “I…”

“You gotta calm down,” he instructed, keeping his voice level and reaching out towards you.

“There’s… I have…” Words wouldn’t come, not in a sentence that was understandable. Like your sleeves were burning, you dragged them up, showing the other inked artwork you’d found, and both men stared at them like they were going to explode any minute.

“Sammy…” Dean whispered, his eyes glued to you, and you felt your fingers trembling.

“We’ve seen weirder, Dean. Tricksters, demons… angels.” Sam’s voice was low and his gaze was centered on you. “A car becoming a person?” You blinked slowly, dragging your eyes up to him.

“It’s not possible…” you whispered, unsure if you actually made a sound. Your mouth was dry and Sam was so close, the scent of leather and flannel and gunpowder… you snapped your eyes shut, feeling like everything slowed dramatically.

_Bon Jovi’s Wanted Dead Or Alive… the sound of ripping metal as a semi collided with black shiny paintwork… blood-stained upholstery… a man humming… a baby crying… Dean… a woman trying to soothe… Mary… and John… boyish giggles and foul smells… Legos in the air vents, rattling for weeks… the gentle sway of rosary beads in the sunshine through a windscreen…_

You reeled back as thousands of sensations and images assaulted you, but nothing tangible. Memories and scattered knowledge that didn’t line up, but you knew.

“She’s Baby, Sam,” Dean’s voice pushed through the cloud of confusion, and you opened your eyes again. Sam was nodding, still not looking away from you. You breathed slowly and heavily, dropping your gaze to the marks on your skin.

And then, you passed out.

*****

You were a car.

It didn’t matter how many times you repeated it, or the proof of what you’d seen in your own head; you couldn’t wrap your head around it. Since the memories had flooded you, you’d been piecing them together, but it was goddamn weird.

Cars didn’t feel things like humans. It was more of an awareness like you could see images of what happened, but they were portrayed unlike you were seeing them, just… aware with pictures. There was no way to explain it.

You knew about your first owner. Sal, and his bibles driving all over the United States Of America delivering the word of God. Picking up prostitutes in every city, and seeing his kids twice a year. When he died, you’d sat in the impound lot to repay his old debts, and you’d accumulated a good layer of dust before you found yourself in bright sunshine, out in open Kansas.

Then you’d found a family. Just a guy and a girl at first, and somehow, it felt right. Things changed over the years - they fought, amongst other things, but you remembered the night that all around you was smoke and fire, and then there was just John and the two boys.

Dean stole you on his thirteenth birthday. John had passed out drunk and left his keys on the side. Never knew what his son had gotten up to.

Time didn’t seem to be coherent in what you remembered, and when you decided to write it all down, nothing made sense until you showed it to Sam. His eyes had been shiny and wet when he’d finished, before putting everything in order.

It made a little more sense then, but you hadn’t been prepared for the overwhelming grief, sadness, fear, and every other emotion that four wheels can’t feel. The last of which was guilt.

You’re been human for two weeks when you apologized. Sat in the library, watching Dean read through a book while Sam was out on a grocery run, you just blurted it out. And Dean looked confused as hell.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, sitting straight. “I’m here, which means you don’t have her. And she’s always been there.”

Dean blinked, unsure what you were getting at. “Her? You mean, the Impala?” You nodded, and he frowned. “Y/N, you are the Impala.”

The name was one you’d been drawn to, unable to deal with Dean calling you Baby. It wasn’t your name, not now anyway, and Sam had gone bright red when you suggested Y/N. As it turned out, the name was the same as the girl he’d once lost his virginity to - Sam had lost his virginity in the backseat of his dad’s car.

You’d gone a little red at that too.

“No, I’m not,” you insisted. “I remember things, feeling, but me? I’m not a car. It’s like we’re different entities, and I know that without her, you’re miserable. You’ve refused to drive another car since I got here.”

Dean shrugged, going back to his book. “It’d feel like cheating,” he muttered. “You shouldn’t feel bad for being alive, Y/N. You didn’t ask for this.”

“What if I did?” you posed, drawing his eyes upwards again. “We don’t know how this happened. What if I did want this?”

“Why?” he asked, looking genuinely confused at the question. “Why would you choose to be human?”

His reply confused you equally. “Why wouldn’t I?” You thought of all the wonderful things you’d been able to experience since appearing in the garage. Hot showers. Food. Coffee. And oh god, had you mentioned chocolate?

Sometimes you woke up with a foul taste in your mouth after a strong dream, and you could have sworn it was petrol.

“Being human sucks,” Dean argued, shrugging. “Pain and death and nothing but.”

“That’s not what I remember,” you said, shaking your head. “I remember summer picnics with your mom and Dad, Sam learning to crawl on that big plaid blanket with the burn hole in one edge.” Dean’s mouth opened, but you weren’t done. “I remember Sam and you, cuddled up in the backseat, safe with each other. I remember you getting drunk with that waitress in Tampa, and she gave you a blowjob in the backseat that was the best blowie you’d ever had.”

“How do you -”

“You talk a lot,” you interrupted. “The point is, life sucks, but damn, Dean. You’ve got family and friends that would literally die for you. You’ve seen more of the world than the other ninety percent ever does and you’re a friggin’ hero.” You stared at him, trying to decipher the emotions on his face. “And I’ve taken away the one constant in your life, just by being here.”

Dean didn’t speak, his eyes wide and glassy as he stared right back at you. “You remember all that?”

You shrugged, looking away. “I guess. It’s weird. Like watching a movie with directors commentary.” He snorted at that. “Do you think we’ll ever find a way to turn me back?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, sighing heavily.

Sam chose that moment to return, bags laden with groceries, and the conversation was stopped. You got up, helping to put everything away, before announcing that you were cooking dinner, which provoked a worried reaction from both Winchesters.

“You’d be surprised how much you pick up,” you explained, shooing them out of the kitchen.

And they were surprised. Cheese omelettes with salad wasn’t exactly gourmet cuisine, but to two men used to greasy diner food and heart attack joints, it was delicious. You couldn’t deny it was good to see them smiling and laughing over their meal.

You remembered Baby’s protectiveness over the boys as they grew. Like a distance feeling of belonging, that her job was to keep them safe, to shelter them when they had no roof, to give them comfort and warmth. The feeling didn’t diminish with your recent transformation. If anything, it grew tenfold.

*****

“Y/N?”

Two months and nothing. Both boys had given up, focusing on cases and other things, while you kept adjusting to life as a person. Fake documents were easy, and you’d steadily started to understand more of who you were. Although Dean still refused to drive unless absolutely necessary, he was settling into the new normal.

Looking up from the book you’d been reading, you smiled at Sam stood in the doorway of the room that had become yours. You’d found a love for little knickknacks and posters, collecting bits and pieces when you’d gone out on hunts with the Winchesters. That had been a small point of contention when Dean had refused to let you hunt.

But Sam reminded him that he’d once said Baby belonged out there, hunting, and legs instead of wheels wouldn’t stop you feeling the need to do the job.

“You coming?” You blinked, unsure what Sam meant, and he grinned. “Movie night.”

“Oh!” It was something of a tradition now. At least once a week, you’d all watch a movie in Sam’s room, with snacks and beers. Tonight was the last of the Star Wars films, and you’d been looking forward to it. “Sure, lemme change my pants and I’ll be right there.”

Sam nodded and disappeared, leaving you to change. You were quick about it, eager to get started on the last film in the original trilogy. When you made it to Sam’s room, you were surprised to see Sam alone. “Where’s Dean?” you asked, moving over to the bed slowly.

“He went out. Something about having the blonde on a promise,” Sam answered, pulling a face.

“We’re still watching Star Wars right?”

Sam laughed, patting the bed next to him. “Of course.” You grinned, practically bouncing onto the bed next to him, squishing yourself down in your spot. Sam started the movie, and you relaxed into a companionable silence. Thirty minutes in, Sam stretched and reached his arm around your shoulders, but you didn’t react beyond resettling yourself in his hold.

It was nice.

His body was warm around you, and you found yourself drifting from the film to the thought of how Sam felt pressed up against you. It made you fidgety and when you squirmed again, Sam turned his head to look at you. “You okay?”

You nodded, smiling, suddenly all too aware of how close he was to you. His pupils were pinpoints as he looked into your eyes, and the heat between your thighs increased. “Sam?” you questioned, finding yourself short of breath.

He didn’t respond, but the two of you gravitated towards each other until your lips pressed together with a gentle touch. It was soft and quick, and when you pulled away, your eyes were filled with questions you couldn’t form. “Wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted quietly, his fingers tracing a pattern over your thigh. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Am I?” You sounded so dreamy as you said it, something curling tightly in your belly at his words, and Sam chuckled.

“Is it weird?” he asked, cocking his head a little. “I mean, you were -”

“Well, now it’s weird,” you interrupted, giggling under your breath. “I’m not Baby, Sam. I’m Y/N. Maybe I’m new, but I’m just as human as you are.” There was conflict in his gaze at that, and you reached up with one hand, cupping his face. “Want me to show you?”

He nodded, almost dumbfounded as you leaned in and took another kiss from his lips. This time, you deepened it, sliding your tongue against his and feeling an innate happiness when he responded eagerly. His fingers slid further inwards on your thigh and you silently begged for him to keep moving, to soothe the new blossoming ache between your legs.

Sam seemed to understand what was happening, and you moaned into his mouth when he finally dragged his fingers against the seam of your sweats. The sound was an encouragement to him, and he moved suddenly, pushing you onto your back. You whimpered when he broke the kiss to trail his lips down your jaw and throat, along the curve of your breasts, shoving your shirt upwards to expose bare skin.

“Sam.” The gasp of his name was enough to make him smile against your belly until his lips were grazing the waistband of your pants.

He didn’t stop, tugging the material down your thighs, and you bit your lip hard. Sam groaned when he had you naked from the waist down, pressing against your knees to make you part them for him. You were flushed all over, shy of your nudity, despite the fact that he’d seen it already. This time he was looking at you with such hunger, need; one hand palming the crotch of his pants as he contemplated what to do.

“Beautiful,” he admired, dropping down to drag his tongue against your folds, making you squeak a little indignantly at the surprise sensation. Sam chuckled, settling himself in, and you dug your heels into the mattress when he instantly sought out your clit.

Your hips jerked, and your fingers curled in the sheets. You arched your head back as he thrust his thick tongue into your soaked hole, working his neck to provide a little more leverage to his strokes. The intense pleasure forced your eyes closed and your mouth open, a cry of bliss making Sam grunt against you.

You were panting his name now, lost in an abyss of pleasure you’d yet to categorize as a new experience. His touch was electrifying and powerful, and he wasn’t stopping. Every stroke, every moan brought you closer to the edge, until it felt like you were going to snap in half.

“Cum for me, Y/N,” Sam urged, pressing a finger against your entrance and latching his mouth onto your clit. You bucked and whined, repeating the word “yes” over and over until everything spun and surged and then…

Ping. Done.

It was a beautiful feeling. Lying there with half-lidded eyes watching Sam sit up, a satisfied smirk on his slick lips. You could literally float, and the strength went out of your legs, your knees hitting the mattress with a soft rustle. “That was…” There wasn’t a word adequate enough that your brain could form, so you settled for the easier one to say. “Great.”

“Great?” Sam asked, sounding amused.

“Yeah,” you drawled, and your eyes closed fully. “Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” The comment made him chuckle, and the bed shifted underneath you as he got up, stripping off his shirt and pants. You opened your eyes fully, sweeping over him and letting the image cement itself into your mind. Long legs led up to a perfect ass, sculpted shoulders and thick-as-fuck arms. Sam was smirking when he turned, and you swallowed at the sheer size of him.

All of him.

Lines slanted in a v-shape down to the thatch of dark hair that surrounded the base of his cock, which stood hard and proud, twitching as he returned the appreciative gaze. “Now you’re wearing too many,” he pointed out, and you glanced down.

The shirt was gone in a second, joining the rest of the clothes on the floor as Sam climbed onto the bed, kneeling back between your thighs and leaning over to kiss you. The salty tang of your own taste lingered on his lips, and you sighed, wrapping your arms around him.

“This okay?” he asked, sounding a little nervous, and you nodded with a smile, looking up at him.

“Fuck me, Sam,” you whispered, making it more an order than a plea and Sam groaned at the tone. He reached over, pulling a condom from the drawer and you watched him sit back to roll it on, licking your lips wantonly. When he was ready to dance, you reached out for him, clinging to his body as he started to kiss you again. His fingers pinched and tweaked your nipples, making you yelp and gasp, raising your hips in an impatient demand to have him inside you.

It never even really crossed your mind that you were a virgin and that Sam was a well-endowed man.

The first touch was tantalising, and you greedily arched upward, forcing him into your body a little more and that was when you realized just how big Sam was. “You okay?” he panted, and you nodded, keening as he worked his hips back and forth a little at a time. When your body reacted and slick started to coat him, Sam put a little more behind his thrusts and you cried out as he filled you completely. The sound made him freeze and look worried.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, rolling your pelvis and clenching tightly around him, making his jaw tense and his eyes roll back just a little. “Please, Sam -” A rumbling sound spread through his chest and you dug your nails into his shoulders when he started to withdraw. The friction as he slid back into you was delicious and addictive.

Your hands slipped from his shoulders to his face, and you stole kiss after kiss, the movements between you becoming more frantic and less calculated with every passing moment. Sam didn’t object when you lifted your right leg to wrap it around his hip, using your body weight to roll him underneath you. The new angle made you cry out in pleasure as his cock slammed right into your sweet spot, and your body trembled with renewed arousal.

Sam ran his hands all over you, desperate to see what made you call his name. You didn’t stop him, lifting and rolling your hips, in turn, to seek out that all-too-distant spark in your belly. You needed it, craved it, and Sam knew how to give it to you.

When you finally hit the point of no return, you collapsed onto him, greedily demanding his mouth as you rode out the climax on his cock. Sam groaned, fisting one hand in your hair, dragging his legs upwards and bending them at the knee.

Then, he fucked you.

The impact of his thrusts had you bouncing in his lap, his arms pinning your body against his, one large hand spread across the small of your back with one finger delicately poised at the top of your butt. You stretched up, gasping, exposing your throat to him, and Sam’s nose creased upwards in a snarl.

You came again when he marked you with his teeth and tongue, sucking dark marks into your skin wherever he could reach and bite for a few seconds. Some of them were purple, some just a deep shade of red - either way, you’d look at them later and blush with the memory. They weren’t the first marks he’d left on you, and not the last either, in some kind of poetical way.

Sam didn’t stop slamming up into you until he was panting for breath, and you felt his cock spasm and twitch. With one last filthy drawn out moan, he came, spilling into the condom and leaving you with a fading sense of warmth in your belly.

You were sweating, practically collapsed on his chest, the slick of his skin under your chin not pleasant, but not the worst thing ever. In the background, Han and Leia were bringing down the Death Star - neither of you cared.

“Sam,” you whispered, when your heart had slowed to a reasonable pace, and Sam wasn’t gasping for breath. “What happens now?”

He cocked his head, trying to look down at you and giving himself a double chin as he did. You lifted your head, propping your chin on the back of your hand so you didn’t hurt him. “What do you mean?”

“What if we find a way to turn me back?”

Sam sucked in a breath, giving you a smile that wasn’t reassuring in the slightest. “We’ll figure it out.”

*****

Figuring it out never seemed to happen. Months past, and it was winter all over again before you knew it. The boys were in the middle of the fight for their lives, and you were doing everything you can to keep them from falling apart.

At least you knew how to help Sam.

With your body and your company, he seemed to be keeping hold of his optimism, but you couldn’t say the same for Dean. The elder Winchester was falling to pieces, and you couldn’t do anything to pick him up.

You were just a reminder of the beloved car he’d loved so much.

“I have to fix this,” you murmured one night, lying awake and watching Sam sleep. You’d moved into his bedroom within a week of your first encounter, and that had been that. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“What?” Sam answered, sleepily, opening bleary eyes to look at you. “Fix what?”

“Fix Dean,” you replied, sitting up. “We have to get Baby back.”

“Y/N, you are Baby, baby,” Sam mumbled, his eyes shut again, and you smiled at him fondly, although the pang of regret at his words was unavoidable. Slipping from the bed, you watched him for a moment, then glanced down at the tattoos on your body, the marks from your previous life.

They needed their home back.

You couldn’t be happy until you’d fixed it.

Packing a small bag, you grabbed one of the burner phones from the storage closet and headed down to the garage. The Citroen was the least likely to be missed out of all the vehicles down there, so you loaded up the battered blue car and headed out.

Rowena was fairly easy to find as it turned out.

Getting her to help? Well, that was an entirely different question.

“You’re fairly new at this, aren’t you?” she commented, watching you from across the table of the fine dining restaurant she’d picked to meet you in. It was a little higher than you felt your station was - and you’d already lost count of the filthy looks from the staff at your less-than-elegance leather jacket and tight jeans. Rowena looked every inch the perfect higher class lady, down to the perfectly applied makeup and snooty smile. “My dear, in order to get something from me, you have to have something I want.”

You cocked your head, frowning at her. “I don’t have anything.”

“Oh, but you do,” Rowena replied, a sly smile curling her painted lips. “There’s magic around you, girlie. Powerful magic. Someone did this with an intention.”

“What intention?”

The witch shrugged, picking up her wine glass and sipping at it delicately, as though she wasn’t capable of killing everyone in the room with a wiggle of her nose. “That, I can’t tell you.” She placed her glass back on the table and cleared her throat. “But turning an inanimate object into a person? That’s transmogrification I’ve only seen once before. And the last time, I was the one wielding the spell.” Your eyes narrowed, and Rowena tittered that high pitched laugh of hers, waving a hand in your direction. “It wasn’t me, my dear. More likely a member of the Grand Coven, or possibly one of the older witch families. Obviously, their intention was to rile the Winchesters or keep them distracted. I don’t suppose they -”

“No. They don’t know anything. And I’m not going back until I’ve fixed this,” you replied, firmly, looking down at the table, and the bowl of soup that had been sitting there for long enough to get cold.

“And you realize that means…”

“That I might not exist anymore,” you sighed, threading the edge of the tablecloth between your hands. “Yeah, I know. But she isn’t just a car. She’s their home. She’s part of them, and without her -”

“I always found it odd, the relationship between those boys and that car,” Rowena commented, lifting her spoon to scoop some of her soup up. She supped it slowly, keeping her eyes on you. “And now with you and Samuel… well, someone is going to end up hurt, my dear.”

“Can we get to the point?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, getting annoyed with the small talk. “Can you do something about it or not?”

Rowena smiled again, putting her spoon down with a gentle “ding” against the fine china dish. “I can.”

“And what do you want in return,” you enquired, unsure what you had to give.

“I want the magic. You let me find the source, I take out some competitors.” She shrugged like it was nothing pausing before looking at you.

“Deal,” you replied instantly, unable to see the bad in that. If it was another witch that had done this to you, then you were quite happy to see one less witch in the world.

Rowena watched you for a moment, contemplating your quick response. “It will hurt,” she mentioned, one hand laying across the table. “Seeking the source of a spell like this, it’s not quick, and it’s not easy. It could take days, and I’m still not sure it’s possible to separate what you are now, from what you used to be.”

“I don’t care,” you insisted, folding your hands in your lap. Tears were stinging your eyes at the thought of never seeing Sam again, but you had faith. This had to work - for the sake of the boys, you had to give them their home back. “And why are you trying to put me off the idea?”

“I’m not,” Rowena chuckled, shaking her head. “But I can see why Samuel is so taken with you.”

You chewed the inside of your mouth, feeling the heavy weight of your phone in your pocket. He’d called so many times in the last two days since you’d left without saying a word, and you’d ignored every single one. His texts went unanswered, and it broke your heart with every moment. But you couldn’t risk him trying to stop you. This had to be fixed. “So, let’s get started.”

Rowena smiled brightly. “After dinner, dear. Come now, you must be starving. And spellwork on an empty stomach usually leaves me with a headache.”

*****

Four weeks passed without a word. Sam called and texted, got in touch with every contact he knew but there was no sign of you.

They caught the call at 3 am, both of them exhausted from searching. Sam drove, as he had done for weeks without the Impala. It wasn’t that Dean disliked driving other cars, more that he felt like he was in mourning for the only home they’d had for so long.

It was two hours before they got into the impound lot, arguing with the night staff. Dean was going to pay anything to get his car, and after a $100 bill accompanied by the threat of physical violence, the staff relented.

When he laid eyes on her, Dean sighed, stopping in his tracks with one hand over his heart. “It is her,” he breathed, not noticing that Sam had stopped a few steps back.

There was no relief here for him. The confirmation that the car was Baby meant that you were gone. He’d never hold you in his arms again, or fight by your side and it cut him to the bone. Sickness unfurled in his belly and he could feel the hot tears in his eyes.

Dean was running to her now, placing his hands on the metal softly, like she’d disappear if he was too rough. The smile on his face stretched ear to ear, and Sam tried to compose himself as he approached, coming to a halt just behind his brother. “Oh, Baby, I’ve missed you,” Dean cooed, running one hand across her roof, moving towards the trunk. “Hope everything’s where I left it,” he muttered, glancing in the backseat.

He froze, sucking in a sharp breath, and Sam frowned, looking at where his brother had stopped dead. “What?” the younger Winchester asked, frowning.

“Er…”

Sam didn’t wait for Dean to stutter out an answer and moved closer, so the backseat was fully in view.

There, stretched out on the leather, covered in nothing but your skin was you. You were asleep, one arm tucked under your head like it always was, and Sam felt like he was going to puke. In a good way. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, and when Dean yanked the door open, it made him jump.

It woke you instantly, and you sat up, promptly lashing out and punching Dean square in the nose. He swore and clutched his face, just as you recognized who you were looking at and your eyes widened in surprise.

“Dean?” Your attention flew beyond the Winchester clutching his bloodied nose, to the taller man behind him. “Sam?!”

Sam burst out into laughter, and you flew out of the car into his arms, brushing past Dean who was dabbing his nose gingerly and glaring. But neither you or Sam cared - you were too busy wrapped up each other to even notice that you were entirely naked.

Again.

Dean cleared his throat, averting his eyes from the reunion, and you both turned to him, smiling widely. “I’ll get you a blanket,” he grumbled, turning away as you and Sam returned to staring at each other. His huge hands cupped your face, his eyes searching yours as if he needed to check it was truly you.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, and you laughed.

“I said I was gonna figure it out,” you replied, shaking your head and stroking over his stubbled face with your fingers. He looked a wreck; exhausted and scruffy, but damn he was a sight for sore eyes. “Sam, I was coming back to you. But she…” you glanced back at Baby, smiling fondly, “...she was still needed. She’s your home, whatever happens.”

Sam smiled, looking down and causing his hair to fall in his eyes briefly before he returned his gaze to you. “Not just her,” he stated, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re my home, Y/N. Wherever you are, that’s where I wanna be.”

Tears fell from your eyes, tracing the lines of your cheeks and Sam wiped them away, leaning in to kiss you softly. The sound of the trunk being slammed ended the soft caress and Dean tossed a blanket towards you. Sam caught it, wrapping it around your shoulders, turning with you towards the car.

“Sorry,” you winced as you saw the bruising around Dean’s eyes and nose. “I… reacted.”

Dean chuckled, nodding. “Yeah. Good to have you back, Y/N. Sam’s been goddamn unbearable without you around.”

You smiled, nodding and ducking your head, curling into Sam’s side eagerly. Even though it had only been weeks, you’d missed him more than you’d thought possible. Rowena’s spell had been hard, and painful, and even now, you could feel the effects on your body.

Payback would come. You knew that. Rowena would always want something more in return, even if she’d caught the witch responsible for your change and turned her into ash. But right now, all you cared about was going home with the Winchesters.


End file.
